Child of Darkness, Child of Light
by Marilee Susan Way
Summary: A Half Life. That was the curse promised to the wizard who sought to create a Horcrux. So what of the wizard who dared to create seven? Perhaps he might also be clever enough to dispel that misfortune onto somebody else. AU CoS


Disclaimer: The following work is based on the intellectual property of author J.K. Rowling. All familiar characters and settings represent entities copied from her work. No money is being made on this. Duh.

A New Master

The scrolls were brown and frayed. They smelled like decay and they were spread out… everywhere. Ursa brushed her skinny finger along the edge of the oldest looking one. Part of it lay on her master's desk, but the rest of it was unraveled onto the floor.

"So evil," whispered the elf and she shivered.

It was not a question of reading the words so carefully inscribed on the ancient documents, for Ursa could not have read them even if they were English. It was a feeling the scrolls gave her. Like a pulsing in her blood that made her stomach tighten and her ears ring.

It was like staring into a pitched dark room and knowing, just _knowing_ it was not safe to go inside.

The hidden door to the cellar was open and waiting for Ursa to store the scrolls where they belonged. But Ursa… Ursa could not put them there. She needed to roll them up, to clean her master's study. But the fire was still blazing in its grate, no longer green from the recent departure, and the world would be so much better if Ursa could just put them in there instead.

She wondered if they would even burn.

"Ursa, open this door," said a low voice.

The elf jumped and began pulling at the ends of the pillowcase she wore as uniform. The study's door had been charmed so that no sound could pass through, but this was her master calling, and Ursa would have been able to hear it if he had called from across the country.

The man, the master of Ursa's master, had specifically ordered the elf to replace all the scrolls before opening the door for anyone. But now that her real master had given her a direct order, Ursa could not hope to disobey.

Ursa snapped her fingers and a moment later, the door was thrown open to reveal the finely cloaked wizard who had been Ursa's master for the last six years—ever since he killed her previous master.

He stopped short when he saw the mess in the room.

"What's this?" he said quietly. Dangerously.

"This is m-m-master's scrolls," Ursa replied dutifully, "Ursa is cleaning them up."

"They should have been cleaned up before I got here," said her master, but he did not look anywhere near her when he said this. His eyes were on his desk, and there was a hunger there that made Ursa uncomfortable as always.

Ursa waited to be dismissed.

"The Ritual of Fortune and Blood," he whispered, "What could He possibly want with…"

Ursa's master looked up at her suddenly and narrowed his eyes. "Well, haven't you anything better to do, elf? Or have you not yet finished idling about in my study?"

"N-no master, I mean yes! Yes master, right away."

"And Ursa, I expect to see marks from the stove burned into your hands for your indolence."

"Of c-c-course, master."

It was several hours later, just before dusk, when Ursa wound her way up the stone staircase which led to her mistress' rooms. Her hands pained her, but she ignored it as she carried a tray filled with a most varied assortment of food: stewed raven breast, pickled newt legs, mandrake soup, and a salad made with the very greenest rapunzel leaves.

She knocked once on her mistress' door and was bade enter.

There were giant _things_ flying about the main room, smashing into the bed frame and the fireplace then exploding in showers of purple sparks. Ursa had to duck to avoid being hit with one of the things—which she soon realized were only charmed pillows—and then she nearly dropped her tray of food when it exploded right before her eyes.

"E-e-excellent shot, mistress," said Ursa nervously.

"Oh good, you're here Ursa," said her mistress, "Let's see it then, what have you brought me?"

With a wave of the witch's wand, all the pillows in the room ceased moving and dropped to the floor. The faces on the pillows—for Ursa's mistress had been quite thorough with her enchantment—faded quickly thereafter.

"Ursa has brought mistress her dinner," the elf responded, "Exactly as she was told, the raven breast is stewed on medium cauldron heat with salt from the earth and two leaves of holly plucked at midnight on a full—."

"Right, right, that's enough Ursa, hand it over."

Ursa placed the tray on the edge of the bed and then backed away to begin tidying up the pillows. A sharp THWICK made her stop short and turn—her heart beating like a small winged creature in her throat.

"None of that now, Ursa, I'm still using those," said the witch simply.

"Y-y-y-yes m-m-m-mistress."

The pillow Ursa had just been holding was now stuck to the wall behind her with the knife she had brought for her mistress' supper. It glinted eerily in the firelight and Ursa found it difficult to do anything but stare at the pillow and imagine her elf body in its place.

"Be a dear now Ursa, and fetch the knife."

Ursa's voice seemed to be caught somewhere in her throat and she could do nothing more than nod to acknowledge the order.

White down leaked out the gash in the pillow when Ursa removed the blade. The feathers made a mess on the floor but Ursa did not dare begin cleaning them up until she was given express permission. Instead, with legs shaking in her pillow case uniform, Ursa crossed the room to her mistress and presented the weapon.

"There, now that wasn't so hard," said her mistress, and she slowly sliced a bit of the raven and placed it in her mouth.

"N-n-n-o Mistress Bellatrix."

Her mistress hummed in satisfaction and took another bite of the raven.

"Ursa, let me see your hands," she said suddenly. And Ursa did not dare wonder what the witch was thinking.

Ursa took a deep breath and held her bandage-covered hands out for Bellatrix's perusal.

"Tisk, tisk, I cannot possibly see them with all those coverings. Come now, try again."

Ursa's breaths grew shallower, but she dutifully unraveled the linens from each of her hands and held them out once more.

"Oh my, those are dreadful, aren't they?" said her mistress. She dipped her spoon into the mandrake soup, which was still so hot that it was whistling, and then tasted it. "But this soup is delicious as ever. I wonder how you made it with your hands burned like that."

Ursa's hands were shaking a bit, but she held them before her mistress and did not let them drop.

"Don't be shy now, Ursa, I'm sure it was very difficult."

"N-not too difficult, mistress."

Ursa had not realized she was looking down until her mistress had reached one finger beneath her chin to tilt it up. She found herself gazing into the heavily lidded black eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange. And so she did what any house elf would: she concealed her discomfort and tried her best not to blink.

"I've been very bored up here, you know," divulged her mistress histrionically. "My sister has not been to visit me in days but the Healer says I should stay in bed. That the baby could come any day now."

Ursa glanced down at the large bump protruding from her mistress' stomach and wondered what sort of child was contained within. For the baby's sake, she rather hoped it was a rotten one.

"All I've had for entertainment these last few days is my targets," said Bellatrix, indicating the mess of pillows on the floor, "And you of course, dear Ursa."

"Ursa is h-h-happy to be of service," the elf replied.

"I'm sure you are," the witch responded in turn, "And that's why I have decided to give you a little gift."

Ursa would have very much liked to scream "No!"

Instead she said, "Mistress is far too kind to Ursa, Ursa could not possibly accept—."

"Nonsense, Ursa, I've already made up my mind. Now hold still, I've never tried this on a house elf before."

Ursa knew it was coming, and so she did not flinch when Bellatrix picked up her wand and held it over Ursa's damaged hands. She did not flinch when Bellatrix intoned her spell. And she did not flinch, though she was a bit surprised, when the wounds on her hands began stitching themselves back together.

She did, however, flinch when her master, Rodulphus Lestrange threw open the door and pounded his way, with loud but even steps, into her mistress' rooms. He held one of the scrolls from his study in his hand and his eyes immediately narrowed when they landed on Bellatrix—now savoring another bite of her mandrake soup.

"You've been keeping something from me, Bella," he accused. He was not shouting, but his voice was louder than usual when he spoke.

Bellatrix took another sip of her soup and raised one manicured eyebrow before responding. "Is that so?"

"Don't play with me, I'm not in the mood," he said, his square jaw tight with anger, "You know exactly what I am talking about, Bella."

"Oh?"

He thrust the scroll into Bellatrix's hands and crossed his arms. "The Ritual of Fortune and Blood. Would you care to explain that?"

Bellatrix did not even look at the scroll in her arms, but threw her head back and laughed, loudly. "Dear Rodulphus," she said, and shook her head as if she had just listened to the most hilarious of jokes, "You didn't think you were privy to all of the Dark Lord's plans, did you?"

"This—," Rodulphus seemed to be struggling for words, "This has nothing to do with the Dark Lord!"

"Careful Rodulphus."

Rodulphus took a moment to reign in his breathing and then continued in his usual solemn tone, "This is about our child, Bella. Surely I should be informed of the Dark Lord's intentions when it has to do with my own flesh and blood?"

"Come now Rodulphus, don't be slow," replied Bellatrix, "I was under the impression you had been researching all afternoon."

"What are you—?"

"What do you think, Rodulphus!" suddenly screamed Bellatrix, making Ursa jump and nearly reveal the corner where she had been hiding since her master stormed in.

Rodulphus' face grew very pale as he stared at his wife. "Nevermind, I don't think I want to—."

"Of course it's not yours!" Bellatrix cut him off. Her voice was shrieking, but triumphant. "Even the damned house elf had it figured out, but not you! Not dear sweet, stupid Rodulphus."

Rodulphus appeared to be restraining himself. He looked like he would like nothing more than to slap Bellatrix across the face, and Ursa wondered why he didn't. It couldn't just be fear that held him, could it?

"And another thing!" Bellatrix continued, "If you _really_ think the—ooooh _shit_!

The room was silent, but for the sounds of the fire in the grate.

"Bella?"

"Merlin and Morgana."

"Is it—?"

"Ursa!" screamed Bellatrix.

The elf forced herself to materialize between her master and mistress. "Mistress called Ursa?"

"You know what to do, now do it," said the witch.

"The letter, Mistress?"

"On the table. And take that tray!"

Ursa bowed and turned to leave the room, tray of half-eaten food in hand, but Rodulphus grabbed her before she could go.

"Your hands," he said, and glowered down with the force of all of his frustration, "I told you to punish yourself, but you did not. Remedy that when you are finished with your task."

"Yes master," said Ursa.

She left them in a tense silence.

Barely five minutes later, Ursa was standing in the breezeway at the top of the house with her mistress' letter in one hand and owl treats in the other. The columns on either side of her provided very little protection from the cool breeze and Ursa thought it might soon begin to rain.

"Here Birdie," said Ursa, attempting to cajole the nearest owl, "Mistress Bellatrix wants this letter delivered to her healer right away. Come down now, so Ursa may attach it."

The wind ruffled the tiny wisps of hair on Ursa's head and the owl hooted in indignation—apparently it deemed Ursa unworthy of addressing it. Ursa did not like owls.

Ursa could feel the seconds ticking by and she began pacing the narrow walkway examining the owls as they turned up their beaks at her. "Ooh, Ursa will be in such trouble," she muttered to herself.

And just when Ursa thought she would give up, a sable feathered barn owl leapt from its perch and landed on Ursa's thin shoulder. It twisted its heart-like face around to look at all the other owls, as if daring them to protest, and then extended its leg for Ursa to attach her letter.

"Oh thank you, thank you," she said, deftly tying the parchment to its leg. "Ursa will not be forgetting this. Ursa will bring so many owl treats, and—and bacon if Ursa is allowed any."

The owl hooted and nipped Ursa's ear before flying off into the night. The moon was bright behind the clouds, but the owl's feathers were so dark that it was immediately lost in the satin sky.

"The rest of you are bad owls," Ursa told all the birds left in the breezeway, "Mistress is about to give birth and none of you could lift a talon to do your duties. Well Ursa is ashamed of you. Ursa has been fulfilling her duties here for six years without complaint!"

With that, she snapped her fingers once and disappeared to continue fulfilling those duties.

Her next stop was a manor much grander, though perhaps not quite as sinister, as her own. The hall in which she appeared was ornamented with vaulted ceilings and flying buttresses. And the walls were covered floor to ceiling, but for the doors and arched windows, with books.

A green trimmed chaise lay in the center of the room, and cushioned chairs were stationed tastefully about it so that the floor of the room appeared neither too populated, nor too bare.

"Dobby?" she inquired quietly, wary that she might have ended up in the wrong place.

"Dobby is here!" replied her friend.

Ursa knelt down and crawled under the chaise where her idiosyncratic friend lay on his stomach. "What—what do you think you is doing?" asked Ursa, "Is Dobby looking at his master's newspaper?"

Sure enough, spread out before the elf was today's copy of the Daily Prophet. Minister Bagnold was pictured on the front, waving her hands and looking upset about something or other—there was much to be upset about these days so Ursa could not say exactly what it was in that picture.

"Not just looking," replied Dobby conspiratorially, "Dobby is reading."

"WHAT?" cried Ursa, "But house elves cannot be r—!"

"Shhh!" said Dobby, putting both his hands over Ursa's mouth.

Ursa blinked and stared at Dobby. There had always been something… something odd about the elf.

"But when did Dobby learn how to read?" Ursa finally calmed herself enough to ask.

And now Dobby's bright green eyes shined with pride. "Dobby has been teaching himself."

"Dobby has _what_?" demanded Ursa, though quieter than before.

"Teaching himself to read," he reiterated.

"Oh that's—oh."

"Would Ursa like to see?"

Ursa rubbed her hands together, trying to forget that she would have to burn them all over again when she returned home. With one more moment of hesitation she decided, "Dobby will—will show Ursa how to read, and then Dobby will tell his mistress that her sister is having a baby and should come right away."

Dobby grinned and pulled the newspaper closer between them. "See the big letters right there," said Dobby happily, "Those say 'The Daily Prophet'."

"And what about those?"

"That's the date," Dobby told her, "It says Thursday, June twelfth."

Ursa did not bother to hide her admiration, "Wow, Dobby is a very smart elf."

Dobby beamed, "Before Ursa got here, Dobby was reading about Minister Baggy."

"What's it say? Why's she so mad?"

"It says a man named Bones was killed, with his whole family. Bones had two kiddies, and they was all murdered."

Dobby and Ursa both looked down. They knew how their masters would feel about the deaths.

"That's Nucket's family," commented Ursa at last.

"Nucket?" wondered Dobby, "Did Ursa know Nucket when… before?"

Ursa nodded and looked out the nearest window. Raindrops were beginning to leak down the dark glass. "Did the news say anything about…"

Dobby shook his head. "Wizards papers don't talk about house elves."

"Dobby," said Ursa, grabbing hold of her friend's hand. She looked into his wide eyes and wished she could think of something to say. Instead she sighed. "Ursa's mistress is wanting her sister…"

"Dobby will fetch her right away."

"Thank you, Dobby."

The rain picked up as the night wore on and by midnight it was pouring harder than ever. Ursa was pacing back and forth inside her mistress' room, waiting for orders and trying to stay out of the way of the wizards.

Bellatrix was laid out upon her bed like a queen, sipping a potion and throwing about demands when it suited her. "Healer Marks, this is the poorest Calming Elixir I have ever had the misfortune of tasting," she informed the healer, who was busy performing a check-up at the foot of the bed.

"My apologies Madame Lestrange," he replied, walking toward her with arms outstretched, "Please allow me to—."

When he was within reach she dumped the potion on his head. And then laughed.

"Bella, restrain yourself," said Narcissa Malfoy, Dobby's mistress. She whipped out her wand, jabbed it at the healer and caused the potion to evaporate.

"Fine. But tell Marks," she said, jabbing her own wand at the healer, "To hurry it up. We've been at this for hours."

The healer looked nervous—as he should have, being on the other end of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand—and did not respond until she had lowered it.

"As I've told you already Madame Lestrange," he said shakily, "This is not a process that can be rushed."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

"And where is my darling husband Rodulphus?"

"Right here, Bellatrix," replied the wizard, stepping back into the bedroom, "I was sending the letter to—," he paused and looked at Healer Marks, "To the one you asked me to."

"Well it certainly took you long enough," she sneered and then, "Circe! There it goes again. This _thing_ had better be out of me soon."

"Deep breaths Madame Lestrange, it won't be long now."

"Shut it Marks! Nobody asked you."

"Bella…" chided Narcissa.

"Oh come on Cissy, can't you put a silencing charm on him at the very least. He doesn't need to speak in order to work."

"I think it'd be more prudent to put a silencing charm on you," she replied.

"Ha ha, URSA!"

Ursa snapped from one side of the room to the other, "Yes Mistress?"

"Silencing charm."

"Yes Mistress," she responded and snapped her fingers once more so Healer Marks would no longer be able to speak.

"Remove it Ursa," intoned Rodulphus not a moment later.

"Yes Master."

Bellatrix glared for barely an instant before the deep curve of her lips morphed into a mocking smile. She looked at her husband and spoke sweetly, "Did you also send an owl to your dear brother while you were out, Rodulphus?"

Rodulphus remained silent, knowing his wife well enough not to fall for her bait.

"No? You didn't think he would want to hear about his new little niece of nephew?"

Rodulphus' eyes narrowed but he made no comment.

"It could be the new heir of the House of Lestrange, Rodulphus. Surely Rabastan deserves to know about such a momentous occasion?"

What happened next was very fast. Rodulphus grabbed his wand and for the tiniest fraction of a second the room was very tense—waiting to see what he would do. _"REDUCTO!"_ he bellowed.

Ursa screamed and ran out of the way. Glass from the window shattered all over the floor and the storm outside blew into the room, spraying the curtains and bedspread with cold, thick raindrops.

Bellatrix was laughing over all of it. She laughed and laughed as Rodulphus plowed out the door and Healer Marks rushed to the edge of the bed, yelling about something or other.

She did not, in fact, stop laughing until Healer Marks at last held a tiny, almost deformed looking body in his arms. The cry from the infant was quiet, barely heard over the wind from the storm—nobody had bothered to repair the window—but it was enough to make Bellatrix Lestrange stop and stare.

Narcissa cast the cleaning charms and Ursa handed her some fresh blankets.

"Bella?" said Narcissa, holding the child out to its mother.

"That's it?" replied Bellatrix.

"Yes, that's it," snapped Narcissa, "And it's a baby girl, not an 'it'. Won't you take her?"

"Oh please, have Ursa take her if you don't want her."

Narcissa thrust the baby into her sister's unwelcoming arms and glared.

Ursa waited for her mistress to hand the child back in disgust. She thought for sure Bellatrix would throw a fit, maybe even curse Narcissa for her audacity. But bizarrely, she did not.

The baby cooed, as if sensing she was in her own mother's arms. And she looked very like her mother. Her hair was black and her eyelashes long. Her eyes were deep-set and hooded, but the color? They were very dark like her mother's, but the shade was different. They were a deep blue, rather like the night sky.

There were other differences, Ursa noticed. Like the shape of the baby's chin; it was narrow and angular. It looked refined, just like Bellatrix, but in a different way. And it wasn't anything like Rodulphus, but then, why would it be?

Bellatrix seemed transfixed by the baby's eyes, and her chin, and the shape of her ears. And maybe something else, but Ursa could not quite tell. Ursa had never seen the expression on her mistress' face before. It was almost as if… as if… well, that was unlikely.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about earlier?" asked Narcissa, breaking the spell of silence in the room, "With Rodulphus?"

Bellatrix reached a finger up to stroke the baby's jaw before looking up at her sister. "As if you don't already know, Cissy," she scoffed.

The room grew very silent, and it was a while before Ursa realized why. The howling of the storm outside was now, once again, only outside. The window was repaired and a new wizard, tall and imposing, stood in the doorway with his wand outstretched.

"We wouldn't want the baby to be sick, would we?" said a soft voice from the doorway.

Ursa had almost forgotten Healer Marks was still in the room, but he emitted a very feminine yelp when he realized who exactly had decided to grace them with his presence.

"Welcome My Lord," said Bellatrix without missing a beat, "So glad you could stop by."

Narcissa curtsied respectfully, "And thank you for repairing the window."

The Dark Lord twirled his wand and stowed it in his black robes. Ursa averted her eyes and did her best to seem invisible.

"I should hope you will do a better job of looking after the child in the future," he replied, voice quiet, but menacing, "I will need it healthy."

"Yes My Lord," said Bellatrix devotedly, "I vow, from this moment on, I will spare nothing to keep her safe. No harm will come to her, I swear it, My Lord."

"I admit, the idea of you raising a child," said the Dark Lord, "Is quite humorous, wouldn't you agree Healer Marks?"

The poor healer seemed to be having a choking fit.

"Rodulphus," summoned the Dark Lord.

Ursa's master appeared behind _his _master a moment later. He bowed and looked anywhere but at his wife and her child.

"Aw, there you are, I had almost thought you left."

"My apologies, My Lord."

"No matter, Rodulphus, who could be angry on an occasion such as this?" he replied smoothly, "It's not every day that one becomes a father after all."

Bellatrix snorted in amusement.

"And, Healer Marks, we owe you our deepest gratitude, do we not?"

"I… I… I only…." he seemed to have nothing else to add.

"Nonsense, don't be modest. Don't you know whose child you have just delivered?"

Ursa looked up and the healer's eyes were wide in his sockets.

"Rodulphus," continued the Dark Lord, "Do show Healer Marks our gratitude, won't you?"

Rodulphus made to walk toward the man, but Healer Marks fell to his knees.

"Wait! I swear I won't tell a soul!" he cried, and Ursa stared down at the floor wishing she was anywhere else. She wished she was outside tending the garden, or lying on the floor looking at the newspaper with Dobby. Anywhere else… anywhere else would do. "Nobody has to know! Please, I'll take it to the grave!"

"I know you will," he replied mockingly, "Rodulphus will ensure it."

They left and the room was quiet.

"So it's a girl, you say," said the Dark Lord, sounding strangely—frighteningly conversational.

Ursa looked up and only now noticed the way Bellatrix kept glancing back and forth between the many features of her daughter and the dangerous wizard that stood before her. There was a smile on her mistress' face and every time she looked between the two, it grew larger and more satisfied.

"Yes, a girl, My Lord," said Narcissa when it became obvious that Bellatrix was not going to respond.

The Dark Lord did not seem pleased with her lack of attention.

"Twenty weeks, Bellatrix," he said warningly, "For exactly twenty weeks you will care for the baby, and then it will serve its purpose."

"Her, My Lord," said Bellatrix, "Not 'it'."

Ursa sucked in a shocked breath and closed her eyes. Never in her life, had Ursa imagined that someone would dare contradict the Dark Lord to his face. But to do it so casually? Ursa was only more floored when instead of cursing the witch, the Dark Lord laughed. And that was a terrifying thing in and of itself.

"I suppose you are right," he conceded, "And as for the name—."

"Lyra." Bellatrix spoke with assurance, "Her name is Lyra."

"Lyra," Ursa repeated quietly to herself. She was surprised to find that she actually… she actually agreed with the choice. Not that it mattered, but in Ursa's opinion, it was a nice name. And perfectly suited—.

"Tyche," pronounced the Dark Lord, and it was impossible to mistake the irritation in his tone. "Her name is Tyche."

The wizard's red eyes glinted in the fire light and Ursa pressed herself as hard as she could into the corner of the room.

"Do recall yourself, Bellatrix," he added after the witches in the room had both resumed their deferential poses—heads bows and mouths closed. "The child is mine, not yours."

"Yes My Lord," said Bellatrix, "She is yours."

Rodulphus returned at that exact moment. It was clear that he heard his wife's words because he glowered at the floor, as if contemplating the best way to annihilate it. Ursa tried not to imagine what he had done with Healer Marks during his short absence.

"Bernicia Tyche," said the Dark Lord, and here he turned to Rodulphus, "Lestrange" he concluded with a smirk.

"The child will be called Bernicia Tyche Lestrange."

The storm howled outside and the rain turned to sleet.

Twenty weeks, the Dark Lord had promised. And to Ursa's dismay, never had twenty weeks passed so quickly.

The baby, Bernicia, seemed inordinately well-behaved. She rarely cried, she slept through a good portion of the night, and whenever she was in her mother's arms, she made a darling cooing sound that almost resembled singing.

Ursa's mistress was similarly well-behaved when she was in the baby's presence. She rarely mocked or jeered Master Rodulphus. She stayed in many nights to help care for the baby, rather than attend to some of her late night tasks from the Dark Lord. And when she held the baby in her arms, she almost always smiled and called her Lyra.

On the eve of the baby's twenty week birthday, Ursa was fluttering around the nursery by the light of the dying fire. She was nervous and so did not see the Children's Play Wand were it had fallen from Ly—Bernicia's crib. That was how she ended up falling on her back.

Her mistress turned to glare at her, "Do be careful, would you, your ineptness could result in injury to the baby."

"Ursa is very s-s-sorry Mistress!"

Bellatrix did not respond but lifted the baby from her crib, "The Dark Lord has a very special task for you, Lyra," she said, black eyes glittering with pride, "He will use you to remove any obstacles from his path. With you, he will be able to become more powerful than our wildest dreams!"

The baby wrapped a finger around a strand of her mother's luminous black hair and cooed.

Ursa had not yet picked herself up from the floor, and listening to her mistress' words she felt a very sudden onslaught of nausea that made her happy to stay where she was. Didn't her mistress realize exactly what the Dark Lord had in store for the baby?

"And then one day, you will become his most powerful officer," continued Bellatrix dreamily, "More powerful, even, than I. But that's alright; everyone will bow to you then, my Lyra."

No, apparently Bellatrix had not yet come to accept Lyra's role at all.

"Ursa," said Bellatrix sharply and the elf sprung to her feet, "Bathe her and make sure she is wearing her finest costume. We will be leaving in an hour."

"Yes Mistress."

Ursa carefully did as she was told. And though she took her time, Ursa still managed to finish her task with several minutes to spare. She was left ringing her hands together and glancing back and forth between the baby and the timepiece on the mantle.

At the stroke of midnight, Bellatrix reappeared in the nursery. Like her daughter, she was dressed in her finest robes as if she were headed to some sort of celebration. Ursa bowed when she entered.

Bellatrix did not acknowledge the elf, but instead strode across the room to Ly-Bernicia's cot. She disapparated from her spot with an echoing POP. And Ursa was left alone.

A tear leaked out the corner of her eye. And then another. For hours, Ursa remained in the nursery, lying on the floor and wishing she did not know what she knew. And for the first time in ages she thought about how she missed her old masters. They had been an elderly couple with one child of their own—a son whom they never in a million years would have allowed to be used by the Dark Lord.

Ursa did not stop crying until the first light of dawn peaked in through the window and brightened the room—but it was not the light that brought her to an abrupt halt. It was the strange noises she heard, like a rustling sound, and shallow breathing that were coming from Lyra's cot.

Ursa stood up and peered between the bars of the crib. "Baby Lyra!" she exclaimed, "But—but, what is you doing here?"

Ursa immediately reached for the child and cradled it in her thin arms. There was something very different about the little girl, but Ursa could not quite place it.

"What are these clothes Lyra is wearing?" she wondered, pulling at the strange white fabric which wrapped the baby. It was hard to say, since it had been so many years since Ursa last saw a muggle, but the clothes Lyra was wearing almost seemed muggle-like. Had her mistress dressed Lyra in these?

But that wasn't the only difference, as much as Ursa wished it were. Holding the baby close now made Ursa very aware of the blood pulsing through her elf body. It felt like it was trying to move too quickly, and the result made her ears ring. It was like staring into a dark room and _knowing_—

"No!" cried Ursa suddenly, staring at the baby and wishing she could undo whatever had been done to her, "No, no, no. Poor Baby Lyra."

The fact that Lyra was alive was much more than the elf had expected, but it was clear that she had been subjected to the ritual. At least most of it. If Ursa had overheard correctly, the victim was supposed to be killed in order for the enchantment to take full effect…

Ursa did not replace the baby in her cot, though with the aura now projected about her, the elf was sorely tempted to. She rocked the baby as she gazed out the window and wondered. What had gone wrong?

Her question was answered in the form of Bellatrix Lestrange. The quiet in the room was demolished with a CRACK! The witch tore into the room, banging open the door and nearly ripping the baby out of Ursa's hands. "Give her to me!" she demanded, voice loud and frenzied, "Give her to me now!"

"She's fine, she's fine," her mistress began muttering, brushing her hands through the girl's thin hair, "Alive. Alive. Alive."

Lyra sensed her mother's disquiet and let out a strangled cry. Bellatrix pushed the baby back into Ursa's arms and cursed.

Lyra cried louder.

Bellatrix screamed.

"How could he!" she yelled and the bricks around the fireplace exploded into dust. Ursa did her best to shield the child. But it was impossible to quiet her wails.

Bellatrix turned and whipped her wand towards the window next and it too blasted into nonexistence. "But I couldn't… I couldn't," she continued. Ursa could see regret in her mistress' eyes and it chilled her.

"I WOULDN'T!"

This time the crib crumbled in on itself. The mobiles which floated above it went flying about the room, and Ursa had to duck, with the baby in her arms, to avoid getting hit.

"Mistress Bellatrix must stop!" Ursa begged.

The chest of drawers exploded.

"Must stop!"

The rocking chair collapsed in a heap.

"Must stop! Must stop! Must stop!"

"Ursa calm yourself," barked Bellatrix abruptly, staring hard at the elf, "You must realize by now I could never hurt her."

The baby continued screaming and Bellatrix raised her wand as though she were about to curse the child. "Make her quiet, Ursa, what else are you here for?"

Ursa snapped her fingers and Lyra immediately fell asleep.

"Now Ursa, listen closely. There are plans to be made and I am afraid My Lord cannot know them. He does not yet realize what a powerful servant he could have in Lyra. He sees only her purpose in his ritual, but I? I see a much grander future."

"Yes Mistress," said Ursa obediently.

"And it was a switching spell, in case you were wondering," added Bellatrix with unexpected relish, "The Dark Lord does not realize that the baby I killed was no more than a common muggle bewitched to look like Lyra."

"Yes Mistress," repeated Ursa. She purposefully ignored the pang of regret she felt for the murdered child.

"Lyra has to be hidden," said Bellatrix, "You understand, don't you? There's no other choice!"

"Yes Mistress."

"If there was any other way—any way at all! I would never let her be raised as if… as if she were some sort of MUDBLOOD!" Bellatrix shouted and threw her knife at the wall. It vibrated threateningly in its divot and Ursa felt her knees begin to shake.

"If he could only see!" Bellatrix lamented, pacing the far wall before collecting her weapon, "But he will, I know he will… and then he will be so grateful that I saved her. He will honor her above all others."

Bellatrix turned and pointed her blade at the elf, "So Ursa, you will take her… and… and you will find some muggles. Preferably squibs, or perhaps the muggle queen. I have heard she is quite wealthy…" She paused to scratch the back of her head.

"Do you understand me Ursa? If there were any other way!" The knife went flying through the room once more, landing in the exact same place as before.

"Yes Mistress," whispered Ursa.

"And you will tell these… these muggles how they are unworthy to touch the ground on which this child walks! And you will tell them that one day I will come back for her, and she will be a goddess among rodents and they will be lucky to be allowed to bow to her. Do you understand me Ursa?"

The knife rent the air a third time and made the divot deeper still.

Before retrieving it though, Bellatrix paused and removed her outer cloak. She looked down at Ursa and the intentions brewing behind those cold black eyes made Ursa take a step back, knocking into a wicker clothes basket, one of the few objects in the room which had not yet been destroyed by Bellatrix's ire.

"It's cold out, you know," said Bellatrix offhandedly. Light was streaming in through the demolished window, but the October air, just as her mistress claimed, was quite cold.

"Put this on before you go."

"M-m-mistress?" Ursa replied with a mixture of shock and horror. She couldn't possibly mean—.

"Put it on Ursa!" commanded Bellatrix and Ursa had no choice but to listen.

The tears flowed from Ursa's eyes in rivers as she allowed her mistress to dress her shoulders with the cloak. "Ursa… Ursa is a bad elf?" she finally managed to ask.

"Oh, that's not it," replied Bellatrix.

The cloak bunched comically around Ursa's feet and it felt much too heavy. And her hands; they were full with Lyra so she was unable to wipe at her eyes or nose. Ursa couldn't fathom what she had done wrong. It had to have been because she was thinking about how she missed her old master earlier… that sort of disloyalty always came back to haunt an elf.

"Rodulphus can never know," said Bellatrix at last, "And now you can never be forced to tell him. That's all, Ursa. Now hide Lyra in that basket and go."

Ursa was not compelled to follow Bellatrix's orders any longer, but it felt so natural to do as the witch said that she stooped and placed Lyra in the basket at once. And it was fortunate she did because barely a moment later, Rodulphus Lestrange entered the nursery—for the very first time since Lyra was born.

"What," he began in his calm, even voice, "In Merlin's name happened here?"

"Ursa destroyed the nursery, so I gave her clothes," replied Bellatrix simply. She dug her knife out of the wall and examined it casually before stuffing it back in her robes.

Rodulphus allowed only the slightest hint of surprise to flit across his face before he smothered it and resumed his typical grimace.

"Bella, you realize you can't just let her go. She knows too much."

Bellatrix ignored him and began humming. Rodulphus started at the unusual behavior and Ursa seized the opportunity to sneak herself and Lyra out of the room.

"Bella, what—?"

"The room is destroyed now, Rodulphus. I think it's a superlative spot for a duel. What do you say, _Mortilo!_"

Rodulphus barely had time to dodge the unexpected spell and Ursa did not wait to hear him return fire. She held the wicker basket close to her and ran out the front door of the Lestrange Estate, fully believing she would never step foot on the grounds again.

And it's true, for a very long time she wouldn't. But the twists and turns of life's adventures can lead to the most unexpected places sometimes. For instance, nobody would have expected that the Dark Lord Voldemort's lack of good fortune—fortune he had been assured he would possess on the thirty-first of October—would lead him to be expelled from his very body by an infant child.

Who could have known the survival of his blood relative, the one onto whose shoulders he had condemned his well-earned misfortune, would impact him so greatly?

And though many would speculate on how a mother's attempt to save her only child caused the Dark Lord's downfall, none of them—save for perhaps a house elf named Ursa—would consider that the mother in question was Lord Voldemort's leading lieutenant.


End file.
